The Black Prince and the White Rose
by ThespianWaltz
Summary: All fairytales have a happy ending, but not all of the paths taken are smooth and straight. I invite you to enjoy an old-fashioned story with clever narration and a chack twist. Written in fairytale style so appropriate for all ages.


**The Legend of the Black Prince and the White Rose**

Once there was a castle, because all the old tales have castles. And of course there was a prince because what is a castle without royalty? He was the son of a foreign princess and was known for being ruthless in battle. The young war prince would ride to meet his enemies without any sort of fanfare save for his black banner which sported a green dragon with molten gold eyes identical to the prince's. It was only in battle with his black banner waving that the prince ever showed emotion, and so he became known as the "Black Prince".

Now, while this story is very old, the tales of Grimm are older still. They began the tradition of every fairytale having a beautiful woman, and so our tale has one as well. This woman was no long-haired maiden or red capped delivery girl, though. She was a powerful witch.

The witch had heard the tale of the Black Prince and was determined to claim both the handsome warrior and his lands. It was easily done since neither was the purest of souls and so found the other to be quite agreeable. A small hex or two never hurt either. Soon the two could be seen everywhere together, a couple in every sense.

So far our tale has been like every one before it. There is a prince or princess who falls in love with someone seemingly perfect for them. But this story is not like every other tale otherwise you would have no reason to read it, and indeed something is different. This tale is unique because unlike every story before it, something went wrong.

The black prince was at war with a devious king who sought to break him and so offered the witch great power and wealth. While the prince was truly in love, the witch was merely manipulating him and so felt no guilt in breaking the prince's heart and leaving him.

Upset at the betrayal, the prince destroyed everything that reminded him of the witch, including the beautiful gardens where they often spent their days together. In a fit of rage he burned, cut, and hacked down every plant save one white rose. It was the only flower his once-beloved had not touched and so the prince thought to pick the pure rose before he destroyed the bush.

The black prince reached out to take the blossom, but quickly drew back after grasping the stem to find that he had pricked his finger upon the only thorn the rose possessed. Angry at the white rose with its single black thorn, the prince cut the rosebush down and left.

The story does not end with the rose's death. Rather, it begins with the rose's rebirth. You see, something magical took place when the black prince pricked his finger on the white rose's thorn. With that single drop of blood the flower knew the prince's heart; it knew every hardship and battle the prince had endured, and every dark thought and pleasure he kept secret from the world. Rather than being repulsed, the rose fell in love. So deeply it felt for the prince that it bloomed again from the battered remains of the rosebush.

The prince returned that day to find the single white rose in bloom once again. In anger he burned the flower to ashes and left once more. Many would not be forgiving of such a thing, but the rose felt only love for the prince. So strong was its love that it bloomed yet again from the rosebush's ashes.

Once more the prince returned to find the white blossom's petals spread wide. Furious with the ever-blooming rose, the black prince placed a large rock on top of the fragile white rose and left a third time, positive that he would no longer be reminded of his traitorous lover.

The rose was very brave, blooming again and again in the face of such wrath, but as devoted as it was it could not lift the boulder that smothered it, and so it was trapped.

Not soon after the prince fell terribly ill. His previous rage had scared away all the servants so there was no one to care for him in his time of need. He was forced to lie in his bed and suffer with not a soul nearby to comfort him.

The white rose, even trapped as it was beneath the heavy stone, knew that the prince was ill for it knew every facet of his heart. Fearing for his life and determined to reach him, the rose drew on all its power and life energy, and sent vines up to coil around the rock above it. The vines then tightened with a strength that only self-sacrificing love can give, and crushed the rock to dust.

The rose was free, but it was still unable to reach the prince, and now it was dying. It was then that the constantly shifting moon which sees all the facets of people's souls in its wavering gaze took pity on the love-stricken rose. Some say God made man from the dust of the earth, and so the moon took the dust of the shattered rock and gave the rose new life in the form of a man.

The newly born young man looked up in thanks to the waning moon which glowed red that night, and the rays of moonlight tangled in his hair and caught in his eyes staining them red.

Finally freed from the prison of roots, the rose sought out the prince he so dearly loved, soon finding him shifting feverishly in his bed. The rose stayed by the prince's side, tending to him day and night as if the prince was a delicate flower himself. Two days later the prince's fever broke.

It was three more days before the black prince awakened, and he quickly discovered that he was sharing his bed. A young man with pure white skin and fiery red hair slept curled against his side atop the blankets that had been ever so carefully tucked around him.

A black thorn-shaped mark ran down the charming youth's face, and as the prince let his fingers trace the silken cheek he realized that this was the rose he had tried to kill again and again. Looking at the tranquil sleeping form next to him, the prince could not believe that he had ever held any sort of ill will towards such an enchanting, devoted, and loving creature.

Needless to say the black prince and the white rose were never apart again, and lived more happily than any magical sleeping girl or cinder-covered Ella in the history of fairytales.

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**There are two things I absolutely adore when it comes to fanfiction and those are AUs and fairytales/legends. I've always loved old European fairytales with their repeating lines and impossible adventures. Fairytale heros can walk to the horizon in a day, speak to the sun and the moon, and stumble on magic in a world of simpletons. The writing style has always felt romantic to me, and I wanted to share that love the only way I know how: through chack. I also constantly think of roses when I write poetic descriptions of Jack, so I couldn't resist. I did finish a picture for this one, in fact I finished the picture before I wrote the story out I was so excited, and I intend to post the link on my profile once it's up. I hope you enjoyed, and know that I am still working on my other stories, but slowly now that school has started and I'm trying to get used to college life. Thanks for reading!**


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